I-Pod Challenge February 2014
by Acherubis
Summary: A compilation of ten stories for the Dragon Age Fanfiction Writers Forum.
1. Self Portrait

**Blackmore's Night – Self Portrait**

_Paint me a picture and hang it on the wall  
>Color it darkly, the lines will start to crawl<br>Down... down... down...  
>Spin me around and around<br>Draw me away to the night from the day, leave not a trace to be found...  
>Down... down...<br>Nothing is real but the way that I feel and I feel like going  
>Down, down, down, down, down, down, down…<em>

**How Bethany experiences the taint. **(672 words)

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><p>She didn't tell anyone. It didn't look all that bad, this tiny wound on the back of her hand where she scraped along a rock, not much more than a scratch. It still didn't look that bad when she checked it after she had washed off the darkspawn filth in a small pond in one of the caves. She had been concerned, of course, but when nothing seemed to happen, she forgot about the scratch.<p>

Until the wound began to itch. Until she seemed to hear whispers in her head, like ambient noise, quiet and hissing and there was a feeling of nausea in her guts, not very prominent but disturbing because it was _there. _That's when she first realized that something was not as it should be. But she still did not tell anyone because she didn't want to believe that it was the taint even though somewhere in her mind, she already knew. It could be a number of things, right? That itch could be an allergic reaction to the water in the pond. The stomach ache could result from something wrong she had eaten because, really, living off nothing but the increasingly unappetizing rations they brought could certainly upset your stomach after a while. And that whisper? Imagination, surely. They were wandering the deepest, dankest, most spine-chilling parts of the Deep Roads, who wouldn't get paranoid there, suspecting eerie voices and horrible creatures behind every corner?

But it was neither of these things. She soon felt like she was devoured from the inside out, as if something dug at her innermost core and wriggled its way through every vein, every fiber in her body. She knew she had a fever and everything hurt; her teeth, her skin, her bones. And there always were these whispers that were getting louder and more insistent with every day they passed through those blasted Deep Roads. And the whispers were tempting. They seemed to pull at her and made her want to join them in what turned out to be a song, strong and beautiful and full of longing. Sometimes it made her forget the pain and for hours she would just trudge after the others in total oblivion of her surroundings, just listening to that song and she still said nothing because, at that point, what was there to say anyway?

In the more clearer moments, when the song seemed to fade a little and the pain was more prominent, she knew what happened to her and what she was becoming. She knew that she was losing herself to the taint and that there was no help to be expected and so she decided to not tell anyone until the end. She didn't want to worry her sister before it was inevitable. Sarah had so many worries already and she did not want to add to the list if she could avoid it.

And not telling also meant that she could pretend for a little longer that she was not going to die. The thought that her life would soon end in some long-forgotten, eerie tunnel with miles and miles of rocks over her head frightened her to no end. Would she turn into a ghule first? Would they kill her and then leave her dead body behind to be devoured by maggots and darkspawn? It made her shiver to even pondering that idea.

But when the moment finally came that she could not hide her condition from the others anymore and she collapsed onto the hard, cold ground in one of the more gloomy passages they navigated, her mind was strangely calm and the thought of dying not that frightening anymore. It was almost a relief. The ache in her tainted body was almost unbearable and the song… the song made her head spin with it's beauty and tempting promises. It would either be the song or death taking her now and it made her smile because no matter what would be the case, she would not have to suffer anymore.


	2. Gotta Be Somebody

**Nickelback - Gotta Be Somebody**

_So I'll be waiting for the real thing  
>I'll know it by the feeling<br>The moment when we're meeting  
>Will play out like a scene straight off the silver screen<em>

**Alistair and the warden meet for the first time. **(255 words)

* * *

><p>He can't help staring. At her eyes, the most amazing golden color, like honey. At her hair, brown and red and gold, like autumn foliage in the midday sun. At her skin that peeks out from under her collar, soft and creamy like silk.<p>

She's the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on and the world around seems to dull and fade into nothingness. He forgets about the mage he is arguing with, forgets about the message he is supposed to deliver, forgets the looming battle they are about to face soon.

All he can do is stare and blush and stutter and stare some more.

And then suddenly, she comes towards him in long, determined strides, hips swaying softly under those leather pants of hers, red-gold hair blowing in the breeze and with the slightest of smiles on her lips.

He feels his knees wobbling and for a moment fears he will just faint and drop to the ground in a most unmanly way. But somehow he remains on his feet and even manages a greeting of some sort, a greeting he has forgotten the moment he utters it but it makes her giggle, so it couldn't have been so embarrassing. Or she giggles because it is indeed very embarrassing but he doesn't care as long as she keeps making that most beautiful sound. He also doesn't care that he's grinning like an idiot. Somehow he knows this is far from the last time he'll make an idiot of himself for her.


	3. Learning to Live Again

**Garth Brooks – Learning to Live Again**

_I'm gonna smile my best smile  
>And I'm gonna laugh like it's going out of style<br>Look into her eyes and pray that she don't see  
>That learning to live again is killing me<em>

**Some time after Fort Drakon, King Alistair meets his future wife. **(877 words)

* * *

><p>The great doors to the throne room creak open like in slow motion. He stares at them, unseeing. His future wife has just arrived and he honestly doesn't have any idea what to expect or what to say or what to do. Not that he cares. He stopped caring for anything the day he held the limp, blood-covered body of his lover in his arms, there on the rooftop of FortDrakon. <em>She <em>was supposed to become his wife. _She _was supposed to sit on the throne beside him, not a stranger. But she's gone and all his hopes and dreams have burned to ashes.

The palace feels empty without her, without her warmth beside him in bed, her laugh brightening his day and her honey-colored eyes looking at him with that special expression of admiration and love she held just for him. It is difficult enough to adjust to all those new rules, the unfamiliar environment and the many people around who tend to him day and night, claiming they had his best interest in mind but it's even more difficult to do it without her. There was no amused voice telling him to relax and take it easy, no one to joke about his discomfort in those too tight, ridiculous silken pants and shirts. Even with all these people constantly bustling and scurrying about he feels lonely. Empty. Like he is already dead. And maybe he is. A part of him died with her on that rooftop already.

The doors close with a booming sound that clashes like thunder. There's no way out anymore but even that doesn't bother him. There was a time when the thought of being king frightened him. He fiercely looked for arguments why he was not the right person for the job and fought tooth and nail not to end up in this position. The mere mentioning of the throne had his skin crawling with discomfort. Not anymore. He just sits there, stoically staring at the shadow of the woman slowly approaching the pedestal where he's waiting for her.

The first thing he can clearly see of her are her hands, tightly clasped in front of her chest like in prayer. Her steps are slow and hesitant. He can tell that she's nervous, maybe even afraid and he reminds himself that she doesn't know what to expect, either. All she knows is what his or her advisors told her about him and she sure knows as well as he does that those words cannot be trusted. They probably praised all his oh so wonderful assets to an extent that bordered on being a lie. It makes him feel a little like a prizewinning stallion out for sale. And honestly, isn't that what he is?

As his future wife comes ever closer, he sighs and with a light shrug, he straightens his back and plasters a smile onto his face that is as convincing as it is false. It is surprisingly easy by now to hide any and all feelings and present a polite and meaningless façade. Maybe because there are no feelings left to hide.

The sun coming in from the extensive, colored windows in his back cast an intriguing display of light and shadow over her yellow dress. It is a plain dress, straight and without frills, the neckline modest but not prude. He lets his eyes travel further up to a slender neck and delicate chin, rosy lips bitten on by regular teeth in nervousness and a straight, slightly too long nose and further up to…

… eyes, the most amazing golden color, like honey and his breath hitches in his throat. For a moment, he cannot move, cannot breathe. Only when she courtesies and bows her head, he is able to draw a deep shuddering breath again as he stares down at the top of her light-blonde head with wide, disbelieving eyes. He must have stood there like an idiot for quite some time because at some point, she begins to shift uneasily and raises her head again.

"Milord?"

The word is full of doubt, betraying her insecurity and forces his attention back into the here and now. Visibly squaring his shoulders, he reaches out a hand and helps her standing, his eyes searching hers again, holding her gaze. The longer he stares, the less those eyes look like his lover's and he's grateful for that. They are a little rounder, a little bigger, with a darker shade of gold and small green specs and her lashes are not just as full. They are just as warm, though, just as expressive and just as beautiful and he finds that his smile turns more genuine and less bleak.

For the first time in a long, very long while, he feels… _something._ It is a little frightening, a little unfamiliar and for some reason, he hopes that it doesn't show. Suddenly, it is important that she feels welcome. He wants to drive the fear and doubt from those eyes.

With a bow, he brings her hand to his lips and kisses its back. Maybe there is still hope for him. Maybe there are still things to care for and maybe she is the right one to teach him again.


	4. The Cross of Antiquan

**Two Steps from Hell – Cross of Antiquan (Instrumental)**

** Hawke's journey to Kirkwall. **(475 words)

* * *

><p><em>Excerpt from the journal of Malcolm Hawke jr. <em>

Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon

We are on that damn boat for weeks now. It feels as if we are doomed to stay on it for the rest of our lives. All you see is water, like the whole world consists of it, all you taste is salt and seaweed and all you smell is fish and unwashed bodies. I can't tell what day we have anymore. Everything feels the same, looks the same, day in and day out. There is nothing to do but sit and stare, sit and sleep, sit and think. That's the worst part. The thinking. You have no way to escape your own thoughts and they get gloomier every passing hour.

Many have died. The boat was packed when we left Ferelden. There's only about a dozen of us left now. Our supplies run low. If we don't get to our destination soon, more will die of starvation and sickness. Some are wounded. We were attacked by pirates the other day. Lucky for us, they let us go. Not much to raid from destitute fugitives, I guess. Either that or one look at us was enough to have them worry they might catch their death on our filthy, little boat.

Despair lies over the decks like a blanket. I hear the few children with us cry at night. I see the resignation in their mothers' faces when they try to sooth them by telling them stories of better times to come, better times they don't believe in anymore. I try not to let that despair and resignation get to me but sometimes I catch myself doubting as well. But then I look at my mother and Beth and I know I cannot doubt. I have to be strong for them. There's no one left to protect them and if I give up hope all is lost. We have survived the darkspawn. We will survive this as well. We haven't come this far to resign now.

I hear one of the Jack's calling down from the crow's nest.

_Land, ho! Land, ho! I see the Twins!_

For the first time in hours I lift my head and yes, there they are. The Twins. Those two towering, scary statues that mark the entry to the city of Kirkwall. There is a feeling of foreboding in my guts. As if a shadow lies over this place, a dark fog, frightening and repulsive. But then a ray of sun breaks through the heavy, gray clouds above us, the first in days, and things don't look so bad anymore. I turn my head and see the expression of hope and excitement on both my mother and Beth's faces.

We've made it. Maker have mercy and let this place hold better fortunes for us than the one we've left behind.


	5. Gravity

**Poets of the Fall – Gravity **

_Here at the station, standing in the rain  
>Lost in my train of thoughts<br>Looking around for a better time again  
>But yesterday ain't ridin' on this track <em>

**Hawke reflects on his past and future. **(548 words)

* * *

><p>The city is on fire. Flames lick at every wall and smoke billows up, pitch black and fetid in front of the dark blue of the night sky. It would look pretty if it was not for the sounds. There were screams, horrified and pained, the clang of metal against metal, the sizzling and booming of spells.<p>

Hawke watched as the little boat slowly carried him and his companions further and further away from Kirkwall. He felt strangely calm and composed. Almost indifferent. As he stares at the inferno, he thinks of the years he has spent in this place. From the start, things had been difficult. They had to fight for everything; food, shelter, work, plain simple for their survival. Nothing had been as it should when they finally arrived in the City of Chains.

He remembers that he had thought of Lothering a lot in those first months and years, that he wished they never left. They would have found another way, he's sure of that. Maybe if they stayed in Ferelden, his mother would still be alive, Beth wouldn't have ended up tranquil and Carver wouldn't fight in this thrice-cursed mage-war. Maybe if they stayed, he would still have his family.

He did not think of Ferelden in a long time, of the roads they abandoned in favor for others that had led them to Kirkwall but now that he does, that thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, the taste of guilt and regret. He wished he could go back, change the past, start over again, make it right the second time around. If only he could…

This accursed Moloch has slowly killed and destroyed everything he lived for, fought for. There was no happiness to be found in Kirkwall. He should have listened to that feeling of foreboding on the day they arrived and tried to convince his family to move on, to not stay in this place that reeked of misery and despair. Just another fork in the road that took the wrong turn.

He averts his eyes from the flickering fires, red as the blood that flows in the streets tonight and turns around, facing the open sea. The sky is clear and star-studded. They cheerfully twinkle down on them, oblivious to the horrors that take place just a few miles behind them. The water is calm, there's only a light breeze. To imagine that it takes nothing but a turn of the head and everything looks so peaceful, so undisturbed… It is a strange feeling, strange and somehow disconnected but maybe that is how it should be.

He lets his eyes dart about the mirror-like surface of the water to the spot where he thinks the horizon begins. He cannot see it, everything is dark. But it is a soothing darkness. There's no feeling of foreboding this time, just an eerie feeling of peace and in that moment, he makes a decision. He will go home, back to Ferelden, back to the only happy place he has ever known. This time, he'll make it right. This time he'll take the chance that is offered. He did not die in the void's antechamber that is Kirkwall. His family is lost but he isn't. The way has never been so clear.


	6. Little Things

**Madilyn Bailey – Little Things (One Direction Cover)**

_You'll never love yourself half as much as I love you  
>You'll never treat yourself right, darling, but I want you to<br>If you let me know I'm here for you ohh  
>Then maybe you'll love yourself like I love you <em>

**Nathaniel comforts the warden after a nightmare (Headcanon-verse) **(552 words)

* * *

><p>He feels her crawling into his bed beside him without a sound. If he was a deep sleeper he wouldn't even have noticed her but he doesn't remember the last time he didn't sleep with one eye open.<p>

It had started a few months after Anders' death that she came into his rooms at night. At first he had been surprised, uncomfortable even, feeling it was inappropriate for him to have her in his bed but she never did anything but cuddle up next to him and tug at his arm in a silent plea to hold her and after a few such nights, he was almost anticipating her appearance. He quickly learned that she felt lonely, that all she wanted was to feel the warmth of a body in her back and a comforting embrace to chase away the nightmares. She would never admit to them but he knows.

Sometimes, when she slips under the covers next to him, her body is trembling with fear and she actually pokes at him to ensure he's awake before she presses into him, holding onto him so tight it almost hurts. He strokes her back then, sometimes humming some meaningless melody to her. He doesn't have a very good singing voice but it seems to calm her and so he keeps doing it because those are the worst nights when everything comes crashing down on her and she is desperate for comfort.

Other nights, he hears her irregular, shaky breaths and feels the tension in her shoulders. That's when she's crying quietly into the pillows and he just holds her without interrupting. But those are all rare occasions. Most of the time, she just lies there with him, content to know that he's there and that she's not alone. Like tonight.

Their eyes meet in the half-light that is coming in from the windows. Her face is a pale oval against her dark, curly hair and her eyes seem too big in their sunken sockets. Seeing her face like that at night always has him worry. It reminds him how fragile she has become, how thin and unhealthy. Her grief is eating away at her and it doesn't help that she feels guilty for Anders' death as well. They talked about it and some more reasonable part of her knows that there was nothing she could have done to prevent it. But there is always that other, emotional part that would object. He knows how that feels and he cannot blame her but he also knows that it will destroy her if she keeps holding onto that guilt.

Reaching up, he strokes a stubborn strand of hair from her face and she leans into his hand like a lost puppy craving the loving touch of a gentle hand before she lies down and snuggles into his arms. In moments like these, he wishes he could help her but all he can do is be there and hope that his love for her can eventually ease the pain even though it might never be able to completely heal her heart. He will try, though. Try and hope and be there when she needs him, like all those nights she came crawling into his bed and the many nights that he is sure will still follow.


	7. Ja

**Silbermond - Ja**

_Und Ja ich atme dich  
>Ja ich brenn' für dich<br>Und Ja ich leb' für dich...jeden Tag  
>Und Ja du spiegelst mich<br>Und Ja ich schwör' auf dich und jede meiner  
>Fasern sagt Ja <em>

(And yes, I breathe you  
>Yes, I burn for you<br>And yes, I live for you… every day  
>And yes, you mirror me<br>And yes, I depend on you  
>And everything inside me calls yes)<em><em>

_Ja zu jedem Tag mit dir  
>Ja zu jedem deiner Fehler<br>Asche und Gold, ich trag' alles mit dir  
>Denn ich bin und bleib verlor'n in deiner Mitte<br>In deiner Mitte, bis der Vorhang fällt_

(Yes to every day with you  
>Yes to all your flaws<br>Ashes and gold, I bear everything with you  
>Because I am and always will be lost in your midst<br>In your midst, until the very end)

**The warden gets married. (Headcanon-verse) **(747 words)

* * *

><p>She is nervous. No, not nervous but afraid. Her hands lie around the bouquet of little wildflowers like iron vices and her palms are sweaty. Carefully, she peeks around the corner into the great hall. Maybe there is still time to run? She wants to but her feet seem to be glued on the ground and her knees are quivering.<p>

The sight of the hall is overwhelming as is this whole day. The servants have gone out of their way to decorate the room. The walls are lined with blue, silken ribbons, matching the color of her dress. Everywhere are flowers; on the walls, in great vases beside the entrance, bound into little sprays adorning the sides of the chairs that are neatly aligned in front of the makeshift altar. The aisle is lined with delicate arches of greenery and little blue bows and there is a warm, inviting glow from many candles strategically placed all over the hall. There is a quiet murmur of voices from the guests chatting and laughing with each other. So many people and all dressed up in their best garments. It looks so beautiful. She can barely believe this is all for her wedding.

Her wedding. She's getting married. The thought is so unreal, still and causes her stomach to churn and she has no idea why. She loves him, doesn't she? She wouldn't do this if she didn't, right?

A soft touch on her arm makes her jump and she instinctively feels for her sword as she spins around but all her fingers find is the silver belt around her hips and she inwardly scolds herself for being so ridiculous. The touch vanishes and there's a light chuckle.

"Nervous?" the voice of her Second sounds beside her. Taking a deep breath to calm again, she scowls up at him, ready to deny it but besides being amused, his gaze is also compassionate and understanding and she lets the breath out again in a huff, nodding feebly.

"Don't be," he tries to comfort her when he offers her his arm. "He's a good man. Your brother would approve. Now shall we? It's time."

She tries for a smile and hesitantly links her arm with his. This is it then. No chance to run anymore.

Her first steps are insecure, her eyes on the ground in front of her and she feels him squeezing her hand lightly, reassuringly. It is a small comfort but Arik is not her brother. She wishes he was here to lead her down the aisle. It would mean so much to know that he does approve indeed. Still after all those years she misses him and longs for his advice and guidance. Maybe that is why she feels so nervous and afraid. Because there's no one there to tell her what to do, what is the _right _thing to do.

She glances at the altar from under her lashes where her husband-to-be is already waiting for her. He looks stunning in his black pants and gray-blue shirt and with the little cornflower pinned to his lapel. His hair is loosely tied back with a blue ribbon and a smile plays around the corners of his lips. She can tell he knows exactly what it is that is on her mind and also that it partly amuses and partly worries him even though he doesn't let it show. He only has eyes for her and there is not the slightest doubt in them.

Suddenly, she feels foolish. Ashamed. He is so sure of this and she behaves like a coward, hurting him with her indecisiveness and self-doubt. Because she knows that is what it really is, self-doubt and the fear of all this being a dream ultimately turning into a nightmare.

But it won't, right? Because he loves her and she loves him. The mere thought of being without him leaves her helpless and desperate. She needs him. Isn't that enough? Isn't that what should show her more than anything that this is the right thing to do?

Slowly, she raises her head and looks him straight in the eyes and when he smiles at her, reaching out his hand for her to take she knows it is. He will not let her down, never, and neither will she and when the Revered Mother asks her if she will take him as her husband, her voice is strong and clear and free of any doubt.

"Yes, I do."


	8. Carnival of Rust

**Poets of the Fall – Carnival of Rust**

_It's all a game, avoiding failure, when true colors will bleed  
>All in the name of misbehavior and the things we don't need<br>I lust for after no disaster can touch, touch us anymore  
>And more than ever, I hope to never fall, where enough is not the same it was before<em>

**Loghain's thoughts before the Landsmeet.** (441 words)

* * *

><p>The room is dark, the windows closed and barred. He sits on his bed, staring into the darkness, already in his armor that is polished to a shine. The metal plates press down on him heavily. For the first time, he doesn't feel comfortable in it. It is weighing him down, making him feel old and weak and he hates that feeling but he will not stand before the Landsmeet without it.<p>

In the end, it isn't the armor that makes him feel the way he does, of that he is perfectly aware. He knows what is waiting for him as soon as he enters the great hall. Exile. Maybe death. Anora wants to believe it is not that bad but he knows it is. The warden and Maric's bastard have secured more approval among the participants of the Landsmeet than he thought they would be able to gain. There is very little support left for him and he knows the accusations they will lay at his feet. Treason. Regicide. Slave trade.

When did things start to spin so out of control? When did his judgment become so poorly? And when did he pass the point of no return?

Maybe if he acted sooner, he would have been able to right things again. Maybe if he didn't rely on Howe's support as much as he did, he could have prevented the worst. But he had become blind to the greater picture in his passionate efforts to keep the Orlesians out and justified his actions by claiming that this was what was best for Ferelden. And he believed it, he really did.

The best for Ferelden. That has always been what he wanted, what he fought for. His duty, to the day, always came before everything else. It was the only thing he cared for and the only thing he was good at. If anyone told him only a month ago that his hate won over his ability to reason, he would have punched that person in the face for their audacity.

But things were different now. Now he knows that it is the truth, as uncomfortable and devastating as it might be and he will not try to pretend otherwise. Whatever sentence they will hand out to him, he will accept it. For Ferelden, like always. Because it will be the best for his country.

Slowly, he rises to his feet and straightens his back. There is no turning back, no righting the wrongs. All he can do is face his judges with what little honor he has left. Taking a deep breath, he walks to the door.

It is time.


	9. Heart of Courage

**Two Steps from Hell – Heart of Courage (Instrumental)**

**The warden vs. Loghain **(1043 words)

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><p>Sunlight streams in through the windows high up in the walls, their rays painting strange and beautiful patterns in the dusty air and on the polished floorboards. The light is most concentrated in the middle of the hall, like spotlights, illuminating two warriors in the center. Despite the presence of at least eighty people it is eerily silent. You could hear a needle fall. The only sounds to be heard are the clanging of armor and the steps of the two men on the wooden floor as they circle each other.<p>

He feels uncomfortable, wary and a little intimidated as he stares at his opponent, hesitating to strike the first blow. It is not that he is doubting his skills. A year on the road fighting darkspawn, evading capture and trying to gather an army has left him stronger, more able and more self-confident than he has ever been. He knows who he is and what he is capable of. It also isn't that he is not convinced of the rightness of his actions. He knows his mission and that he has to erase any threat on his way to accomplish it, no matter the cost.

It is that this is no ordinary soldier he's facing off against. This is Loghain MacTir, Teyrn of Gwaren, Hero of River Dane, general of King Maric's army and his childhood hero. He remembers sitting in his room in Highever, devouring every scroll and every book he could possibly get his hands on that had even the mentioning of Loghain MacTir in it. He had become a warrior because of this man, had worked his butt off to get better than everyone else so that maybe the general's scouts would notice him when they came by once a year to recruit men for Maric's Shield, those soldiers handpicked by Loghain to serve as the king's personal guard. It had been his dream to become one of them, to serve under the Teyrn's direct command.

And even now, with the knowledge that his hero has turned his back on the country he has vowed to protect, that he is responsible for a civil war and the unnecessary deaths of hundreds of people, even now a part of him still admires and respects this man. He knows that this is how it has to end but he can't help wishing there was another way.

His musings are interrupted when the Teyrn launches the first attack. His sword comes down on his shield with mind-blowing force, leaving the metal visibly dented and his arm uncomfortably numb. He falls back and re-adjusts the shield, knowing that he is being tested. The attack was not intended to harm but to intimidate and weaken his resolve. And intimidating though that display of strength might be, he cannot afford to loose this duel. There is too much at stake for all of them.

He lunges at his opponent with the same attack, making it known that he will not be played with and that he can hold his own even against a warrior with the general's prowess and experience. His audacity earns him a slightly raised eyebrow and he can see new respect glinting in the man's hard, dark eyes.

There is a moment that feels like the whole world is holding its breath, a span of two, maybe three heartbeats where everything stands still, like removed from time and space. It is the calm before the storm and when it is over, that storm unleashes upon him with lightning and thunder. There is no more time to think, no more time to hesitate. Attack and counter-attack succeed each other in a whirl of blades and shields, the clang of metal on metal filling the hall with a cacophony of sound. None of them is willing to give as they are coming at each other once and again and the fight drags on for what feels like hours even though it might only be minutes. He couldn't tell even if he wanted to but he doesn't really care, anyway. He cannot afford to care.

His arms are getting sore and his legs begin to tremble from the strain. Blood is running down his forehead where the Teyrn's pommel caught his temple, dripping into his eyes and his breath comes in hard, heavy gasps but Loghain doesn't seem to fare any better. His opponent's chest heaves rapidly, sweat pouring down his face. He's limping heavily from the stab-wound he has suffered in his right thigh. His eyes are still hard and piercing but there is the slightest flicker of resignation in them now as well, as if he knows that this is not going to end well for him.

Again they circle each other, try to stare each other down. Both of them know it is almost over. Neither one has the strength to hold out for much longer.

He takes a deep breath, grabs the hilt of his sword harder, determination letting him summon whatever little strength is left in him and he leaps forward with a battle-cry. His attack hits home. There is a clatter as the general's shield hits the ground and a grunt when he falls to his knees.

"I yield."

It is not much more than a whisper but he hears it anyway and stops his blade just inches from Loghain's neck as he stares down at the man in shock and disbelief. Silence falls once more and all he hears is his heart pulsing in his ears. The seconds crawl like hours.

And then his childhood hero lifts his head to meet his eyes, beaten, broken, and it his heart stops in his chest with the sight.

"I underestimated you, Warden," he says calmly and with a dignity that belies the look in his eyes. "I thought you were like Cailan, a child wanting to play at war. I was wrong. There's a strength in you I've not seen anywhere since Maric died."

For a long, long moment, they look at each other in mutual respect, one warrior at the other, understanding without words the burden of responsibility they both have to carry. We do what we must, that look says and they both know how true that is.


	10. There Ain't No Grave

**Johnny Cash – Ain't No Grave**

_Well, meet me, Jesus, meet me, meet me in the middle of the air  
>And if these wings don't fail me I will meet you anywhere<br>Ain't no grave can hold my body down  
>There ain't no grave can hold my body down<em>

**Leliana ponders her life in her hour of death. **(576 words)

* * *

><p>It had to come to this eventually. She knew she would die on a battlefield or in some shady back alley and not as an old woman, gray-haired and doddery in her bed. And still, now that it was that moment, it came as a surprise. She was not ready yet, not by a long shot and not for many years to come. But that was the thing with fate, yes? It did not wait for you to be ready for it. The Maker had a plan for everyone, from the day of your birth to the day He called you back to His side and that day had come for her.<p>

She did not want to die but she wasn't afraid of it, either. Only those without faith had a reason to fear death and hers was just as strong as ever. Her faith in the Maker had accompanied her through a big part of her life, had been comfort and inspiration, a source of joy and advice and guidance.

Everybody needed someone to look up to, to love and treasure, no matter if you were a mage, a merchant, a king or a bard. She had never been given the chance to fall in love, marry and start a family. She had also never really been given the chance to follow her own convictions, her own desires and needs. As a bard you don't have that luxury. As a bard you were bound to your oath and not much else. So where could she turn to if not to the Maker?

She had done a lot of horrible things in her life and there was a lot she regretted. You weren't meant to have a conscience in her line of work but she never worked that part out quite satisfactory. But even in her darkest moments, or maybe especially in those moments, she had called out to the Maker, praying for His forgiveness and mercy and she knew no matter what would happen, no matter how deep she might sink, He knew her every fault, her every sin and still He loved her and when her time had come, she would leave all those sins behind and be by the Maker's side.

This was what she was thinking of now as she sat in the ruins of a building that once had been a chantry, with her back against one of the formerly precious, beautiful marble columns and her blood pooling red on the alabaster floor. Her sight was blurry, the deadly wound in her abdomen burning like the hottest flame. Her breath rattled in her lungs, wet and painful and it was getting ever harder to convince them to take in some more air.

But despite it all, there was a smile on her face. Life was an adventure and so was death. Her body might fade but her soul would live on and bask in the Maker's bright, warm light. There was nothing to fear and nothing more to regret. If anything she should embrace that moment and look forward to what would come next. She had never been one to be hesitant to take on a new challenge and wasn't death just that?

With a sigh, the last breath flew from her lips as the world went dark but the smile remained in death, joyful and expecting in the face of the great, beautiful unknown that was the Maker's eternal kingdom.


End file.
